Invisible Summer
by Riddle and Piddle
Summary: A story that takes place during the entire summer before fifth year, not the school year. Dementors being released, something precious stolen from Harry...what does it all mean? R/H, H/G. Sirius thrown in, too, because we love the man...


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(A/N -- Riddle and Piddle here!! Both of us are proud to present you Invisible Summer. The name is tentative, still, but it'll stay that way until either of us think of something better :-) So enjoy, and review if you like it. We had some fun writing it, but even more fun writing parodies of it that had to do with LotR, because we're freaks. Read on! )

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Invisible Summer

Hedwig swooped down from the night sky, letting the cool summer air billow under her wings. She searched the many rows of houses, with their neat gardens and shuttered windows. Dipping a wing, she headed to a nondescript, quiet street where it seemed impossible that anything be out of the ordinary. She flew along the back of the row, scanning the houses. All doors were shut and locked, all windows were shuttered. That is, all windows except one, which was open to catch the night breeze . . . and those who traveled on it. 

Hedwig dove, the wind spilling out from under her wings, the ground rushing up to meet her. At the last moment she pulled out of the dive and glided silently through the open window. Into the bedroom she flew, dropping the letter in her beak on the floor next to the bed. At last, she landed in the cage on the desk. Wearily she dipped her beak into the fresh water, and ate a little of the food supplied. Then, exhausted, she put her head under her wing and joined the other occupant of the room in a deep slumber.

Harry, too, was exhausted, though he hadn't returned from a long journey of any sort. His exhaustion was of mind, not of body. Terrible nightmares had invaded his sleep since his return to the Dursley residence. 

Two weeks ago Harry had returned from a place he called his home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And now, as he woke up with a start for no particular reason, he sat in the tiny bedroom his aunt and uncle had given him, his head in his hands. He didn't recall what the dream was about - it didn't matter. They all revolved around the same thing.

Harry's worst fear was boredom at the Dursley's, so for two weeks he had done absolutely everything he had to do for school. All of his homework was finished, which he was sure would please Hermione, he'd read all of his old school books a few more times, wrote letters, and anything else he could think of. Anything to keep his mind off of the experiences he'd had in the last weeks of school.

Harry was grateful now that Hedwig had brought him a letter, which he immediately thought of as something to keep himself occupied with. He stood up and thrust a hand under his mattress, felt around, and pulled out his wand.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, crossing the room to find his letter. It had no envelope and appeared to be a small sheet of paper, folded in half. He tore off the seal, and read the very short message inside--

Harry --

Hope your summer is going well. I'm on the run at the moment, and I can't say much. Keep your head up, and an eye out for a familiar face.

_Sirius_

Harry snorted. Seeing a familiar face (or at least, a familiar face he _wanted_ to see) was about as likely as an anorexic Dudley. Still, he appreciated the letter. It was a welcome distraction from his rather dark and brooding thoughts. Harry seemed to have far too much time on his hands, he had hours with nothing to do but ponder the events leading up too and after immediately after Voldemort's return . . . especially Cedric's death. 

Harry still found it painful to think of Cedric, hard to believe he was gone. He sometimes pictured Cho's face, tears shimmering on her cheeks, and was forced to fight back a lump in his throat. He thought of Cedric's parents, and the awful pain they must now endure, and he knew that they would never fully heal. He thought of how many families were torn apart, how many lives tossed aside simply because some thought that the wrong type of blood flowed in their veins, and found it difficult to comprehend how one person could be the source of so much evil. Harry spent hours replaying in his mind the time when his parents spoke to him, remembering the tone of their voices, each turn of phrase, memorizing each detail and cherishing it as the only time he would ever hear them speak to him. 

He often lay awake at night, staring into the darkness, and tried to imagine a life without Voldemort— a life with _parents_. 

Harry reread his letter from Sirius, and realized how glad he was to hear from his godfather. Sirius never said where he was, of course, in case his letters were intercepted, and Harry worried about him. The dementors were still on the lookout for him, and Harry found it rather hard to believe that Sirius was as "safe" as he claimed to be, in his letters. Still, Harry would have given much for a talk with his godfather; Sirius was, after all, the closest thing he had to parents, and Harry desperately needed a fatherly figure to talk to. The last, of course, Harry refused to admit, even to himself.

He folded Sirius's letter carefully, and added it too a stack of letters that he had been keeping, owl post being his only link to the wizarding world over the summer. He had two letters from Ron, and three from Hermione, who insisted on writing every interesting fact she learned in Bulgaria to both Harry and Ron. Ron, in turn, had written how annoyed he was by this, but he wasn't very convincing about it; Harry personally thought that Ron was pleased. His suspicions were proven when Hermione informed Harry in a letter about how _interested_ Ron was, for once, and how he had actually asked her questions, and how much he seemed to like her letters!

Suppressing a smile at Ron's antics, Harry yawned and stretched. If Hermione were around, Ron would be telling her how awful Krum was, and how stupid she was to associate with him, and how she should stay away from foreign wizards. But since she wasn't around, Ron was terrified she would stop writing to him. The moment she returned, the attentiveness would cease and the complaining would begin, and Ron would go back to his usual self. Hermione would get a surprise when she returned from her holiday, Harry thought to himself, grinning. 

Pulling on some clothes, he smelled bacon from the kitchen. Tomorrow was Dudley's birthday, but Dudley had convinced Aunt Petunia to cook him a pre-birthday breakfast, as well as a birthday breakfast. His aunt had given in because his cousin had lost weight recently, for the first time in his life. Dudley had now lost a total of ten pounds, though to Harry he looked the same as ever—like an overstuffed pig in a blond wig. The diet had miraculously become successful when the school nurse, in her infinite wisdom, had announced that if Dudley lost weight he would be rewarded with a normal meal once a month. Of course, Dudley usually gained back half the weight he lost over the month in the dinner, but it was a start. The diet was immediately a success—apparently the food Dudley sneaked wasn't worth missing a real dinner once a month. 

Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, arriving in the kitchen slightly out of breath. Not that anyone noticed his grand entrance; on the contrary, the three Dursleys ignored him with ease, the result years of practice. Harry ignored them in a no less skilful manner, taking a plate and sitting down. Uncle Vernon read the paper with a frown, his beady eyes moving back and forth with a look of displeasure. Aunt Petunia was busy around the frying pan and the stove, trying to make things perfect for Dudley. Dudley appeared riveted by the news, his slow mind working hard to keep up with the report, for the newscaster was announcing what the weather would be like for his birthday.

Used to his morning welcome, Harry turned his attention back to the television. He watched the weather without interest, he wished Dudley would change the channel. He didn't bother attempting to take the remote; the television in the kitchen was controlled only by his cousin because it had been his welcome-home-for-the-summer present several years ago. Harry suddenly felt a surge of impatience, he didn't want to be here! He didn't _need_ to be here, Mrs. Weasley had offered to take him for the summer. _Dumbledore has his reasons_ she had told him. Reasons for returning to Pivet Drive. Well, whatever they were, he hoped they would be made clear soon. He wanted nothing more than the chance to return to the wizarding world, the world he knew. He was disgusted with his relatives, now more than ever, for his recent experiences had taught him a little about the important things in life. The Dursleys were forever caught up in their petty desires and wishes, oblivious to what was truly important.

If his aunt and uncle had noticed the change that had come over their nephew, they did a good job hiding it. Even if they had noticed how withdrawn Harry was, they would not have done anything. The Dursleys would forever be the stuck up, unchanging, distrustful people that they had been from birth, and nothing would ever change that.

Abruptly, the news changed from weather to current events. A middle-aged newswoman, with a big smile that looked plastered on her face and hair so unmovable it looked lethal, took up the report. 

"Thanks, Bob," she said to the smiling weatherman. "In further news, we have a rather odd case." She smiled as if this was a good thing. "Yes, recently there have been some—er—feelings, or sensations that made them suddenly depressed. In certain cases, some committed suicide, and still others have gone completely insane, not remembering their own name. Those who have gone insane appear to be empty shells, a body without a brain. Experts are baffled. Tom has the report."

Harry was dumbfounded that she had retained her idiotic grin throughout the whole thing. Harry was amazed and horrified at the report, it sounded truly _weird._ If he hadn't known better, he would have said it was something magical . . . but no, this was the _Muggle_ news. He briefly wondered why it had struck him so deeply, and why he was suddenly afraid, but then Tom the newscaster came on.

"Yes, Linda," Tom said, in direct contrast with Linda. He had the perpetual look of someone who has just recently lost his best friend. "Odd stuff. As you can see behind me," he made a vague gesture to a scene of chaos and tears, "people are rather upset. It was worse a little while ago, when these people were so terrified they couldn't move. Several reported hearing a rattling breath, but when they turned, nothing was there."

Tom looked rather disapproving at this dubious statement, he had the opinion that the people here had had a little too much to drink. It was, after all, a wedding reception. However, he went over to a man hovering in the outskirts of the mayhem, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. 

"Sir, were you here at the time of the incident?" Tom asked importantly. He swelled up and thrust his microphone into the man's face. 

The man, his eyes wide with terror, gasped. "Yes, yes! It was horrible. Everything was fine and merry and then all of a sudden, a chill came into the room. It was like cold wind. Everybody quieted, and then all we heard was this big, rattling breath . . ." he shuddered, shivering all over. It took him some time to collect himself enough to gasp out the remainder of what he had to say. "And I was forced to relive the worst moments of my life. The very worst." A shadow crossed over his eyes.

"Is it true that you were next to one of those who went insane, during the attack?" Tom asked, eying the man in distaste, as though sure he was lying. 

"It is true," the man said, in such a low voice that Tom moved the microphone nearer. 

"Yes, I was right—'' he gulped. "Right next to him. My friend. He was shivering, all over, and he looked as if he were ready to kill himself. I knew how he felt, we all felt like that at the time. But I couldn't comfort him—I was having enough trouble coping with my worst memories as it was. Suddenly, he moved. His hands gripped what looked like the air in front of him," the man closed his eyes in pain. "But his head was forced upward, all the same. As if struggling with some great force, he lifted his head, and it looked like it was an embrace. But what a horrible embrace. His mouth opened, as if to scream," the man sobbed. "And then his eyes went blank. Completely blank. It's like he's gone . . . the soul of him is gone, it is lost. I can no longer see his spirit behind his eyes."

The man broke down completely. 

Dudley reached for the remote control, his mouth open, staring at the screen. It was all too much for him, this talk of strange things. He didn't understand normal ones. Harry wanted to continue listening to this report so he deftly slid the remote out from under his cousin's pudgy, groping hand. He quickly removed a battery, ensuring that Dudley wouldn't figure out what was wrong with the remote for a good ten minutes. He placed the remote where Dudley's groping hand would easily find it. Harry was truly frightened now. He knew what the report sounded like, but it couldn't be. Not in Muggle neighborhoods. They were under Fudge's control—weren't they?

"Some reported hallucinations of silver creatures flying out of nowhere, attacking thin air. When the silver creatures showed up, the fear receded."

Tom finished his report. "Personally, I think the people with hallucinations had a little too much to drink. As for the others, it was probably a little prank that went to far. Kids these days are young hoodlums."

The other newscasters laughed, but a little map with statistics showed up. Attacks were happening all over the coast of Britain, concentrated around a little dot. Harry squinted. The dot wasn't a major city, it was—

He gasped. It was Ottery St. Catchpole. The village was right next to where the Weasleys lived. Harry's blood went cold. The reports, he knew now, talk of the "silver creatures" clinched it, the reports were about dementors. The Muggles, of course, had no idea, and Fudge must be so busy trying to hush news of the dementors escaping control from the public that he couldn't get them under proper control. Harry felt as though someone had jolted him with electricity. 

Why hadn't Ron told him? What was he playing at? Harry got up abruptly, sending his chair skittering across the room. He was thunderstruck. Dementors, running loose, Kissing Muggles; Fudge, keeping it all from the press and the wizarding world. . . .

The Dursleys were staring at him. Belatedly Harry realized that he _had_ got up rather abruptly, and he probably did look as if he'd swallowed a frog with all the shock and horror on his face. Aunt Petunia winced at the noise of the chair scraping over her beloved floors, and Uncle Vernon eyed him with disapproval more acute than normal. 

"What is it, boy?" he snapped peevishly. His eyes went from Harry, standing and looking shocked, to Dudley, still seated in his chair, trying to get the remote to work. He fiddled with the buttons, tapped it a couple of times, and got frustrated.

"Dad," he said in annoyance. "This stupid thing doesn't _work_!"

"Nonsense," replied Uncle Vernon, rattling his newspaper. "It worked earlier. You turned the telly on with it!"

"I'm telling you," Dudley repeated, voice rising. "_It doesn't work_."

"It doesn't," Harry interjected tiredly. At Dudley's look of terror and his uncle's look of fury, he figured he'd better elaborate.

"You—you used _magic?_" Dudley squeaked, terror in his voice. His hands snaked down to clamp over his bottom, firmly. Living in the same house as Harry for two weeks and having nothing happen to him hadn't calmed his fears in the slightest. Dudley still hated and feared Harry, and took care to avoid him 

Harry tossed the battery he still had in his hand onto the table. 

"Yeah," he replied. "Magic."

He left the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He needed to owl Ron. Immediately. 


End file.
